Jett Stream
by animefreak2015
Summary: Set after Magnum Opus. Dr. Spencer Reid is visited by a ... friend?


Jett Stream

Dr. Spencer Reid walked up the flight of stairs to his apartment. He was just reaching out to put the key in the lock when someone stepped up behind him. The full body touch was terrifying and familiar as he froze in mid-motion. A chin rested lightly on his right shoulder, breath tickling his earlobe. He waited.

"Cat got your tongue?"

He relaxed perceptibly. "Hello, Jett." He prayed that he wasn't trembling. Jett wasn't tall enough to lean on the top of his shoulder, unless she was wearing very high heels.

She leaned around him slightly, never losing contact, to run a hand from his wrist to the back of his hand, encouraging him to complete the arrested action of entering his home. The click of the lock sounded unnaturally loud. Maybe it was Jett's ability to be silent that made the contrast. He stepped into the apartment. She followed. He let her close the door behind them as he turned on the lights and set his bag in its accustomed place before turning to face her.

She looked much as he remembered. Black hair, dark eyes, slender, muscular, clad in a little black dress that clung to all the right places. He was right about the shoes, probably very up to the minute fashion with an inch of platform below the ball of the foot and nearly six inch stiletto heels that brought her close to his own height. She stood looking at him, drinking him in as though she would record every minute detail from his unruly wavy hair to the soft shine of his shoes.

Spencer tried to think of something to say and failed.

She stepped forward, not quite touching him this time, reaching one hand up to trace the side of his face with the tips of her fingers, the eye contact so very direct. He caught her hand in his.

"Why are you here?"

"I heard. I knew I should come." She tilted her head slightly to the right, still meeting his gaze. A faint sheen of liquid in her eyes told him of tears not quite shed as she moved in closer, slipping her arms around him now and pulling him close.

For a moment he resisted before allowing the offered comfort to draw him in. His friends had hugged him, offered such support, but never with such complete … he couldn't wrap his mind around what Jett offered him now as his body moved to return the hug. They stood for a long time, wordless, just allowing the offering and acceptance to happen.

She lifted her head from his shoulder to look at his face again. Did she see similar unshed tears in his eyes? Probably. Jett was, after all, an experienced field agent with all the skills that implied. "I know your friends have offered all they can. They know how this can destroy."

Did they? Stupid question, of course they did. Still, from inside, it was so difficult to see that anyone else could possibly understand what had happened to his life with that one simple action. Maeve was dead. He'd barely begun to know her and she was gone in an act of selfish, senseless violence at the hands of a deranged young woman.

Jett's hold tightened for a moment before releasing him. "They've told you it's not your fault."

Yes, they had.

"That you did everything you could."

That, too.

"They're right. You did."

Did he? Had he? Then why was Maeve dead?

"Spencer."

He looked into her eyes again, direct contact with an apex predator. He really should be worried, but he wasn't. Jett was right when she told him he wasn't afraid of her even when he thought he was. The memory of her clad in a light cotton shift soaked in blood and other fluids returned. Even then, he knew she was not a threat to him. He let go the breath he'd been holding. "I know."

"You know here," she brushed his temple with her fingers. "But it hasn't really soaked in here." She touched his chest over his heart. "That takes time," she acknowledged. "Sometimes a very long time." She laid her head against his shoulder again.

Jett spoke from experience. Jason Weeks, her partner, her self-designated 'leash', died at the hands of his deranged twin brother. Someone had found the man and turned his attention to the agents. Spencer had fallen prey to the madman, but Jett intervened. She saved him a second time when she had barely begun to understand that her partner was in danger and dead. Jett took it hard when she found the body and brought it in to clear Jason's name of the horrible murders his twin committed.

If Spencer was right, and his experience as a profiler told him he probably was, Jett had yet to forgive herself for Jason's death. Just as he was working to forgive himself for the part he played in Maeve's. His logic told him that Maeve's murderer would have killed her regardless of his involvement. The killer was bent on revenge for slights that were magnified by her madness. There was no way out of the tangled logic that would let Maeve survive.

Unaccountably, Jett's words, echoing those of his friends and what he knew was true, soothed his battered spirit. He took a deep breath, a little shuddery and released it with a nod. "I know. Thank you," he whispered into her hair.

A quick tightening of her arms let him know she heard. They released each other and stood back, each seeming a little more at peace to the other.

"I brought dinner," she told him.

He wondered where she was hiding it given the dress, the heels and not even a tiny clutch style handbag as an accessory. She stepped around him and walked into the kitchen with a swaying stride that told him he was still alive and male. She'd been in the apartment before he came home. He declined to ask how or why she met him outside.

Spaghetti sauce simmered in a crock pot. Garlic and butter spread French bread warmed in the infrequently used oven. A bottle of wine stood on the counter breathing. All of it smelled wonderful. "Thank you." He hadn't felt like cooking and he discovered he was tired of the sandwiches he'd been living on.

She picked up a couple of shot glasses from the counter. They were already filled with something amber and rich looking. Handing him one, she raised her own to his. "Remembrance." She took a sip of the liquid, a faraway look in her eyes. "Everything you know, saw, felt. Every memory you have of Maeve," she whispered.

The sights and sounds flooded his mind at her words, the distinctive taste of the drink forever locked with those thoughts, observations, knowledge.

"They are forever with us, because we cared. This will keep her with you, refresh the things you shared."

He took another sip, nodding. Warmth, spice, heat and Maeve in all her bravery, in her fear, in her ability to trust in him. It was all there. He blinked the tears away and shared a smile with the woman here now.

After they dined, Jett kicked off the heels and settled in on his couch. Courtesy demanded he join her. She handed him a book. "Read to me."

Not the book he'd given Maeve. Penrod by Booth Tarkington. He opened the cover, turned to the first page and read aloud until they both dozed off.

About one, he shifted and awoke. No Jett. The book sat on the table, open to the last page he remembered reading. A book mark of deep green brocade lay across the pages. Simple pleasures. He straightened the fabric and closed the book, leaving it on the table as he went to bed.


End file.
